


The Talk, Dark Lord Version

by LuminaCarina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Ginny Weasley has lived a sheltered life, The Talk, Tom Riddle not so much, sex drugs emotional manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminaCarina/pseuds/LuminaCarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When sexual innuendo goes way over Ginny’s head, she turns to her Diary for an explanation. </p><p>          (Ginny? </p><p>          Yes, Tom? </p><p>          Do you know what sex is? </p><p>          … Mum said only adults get to do that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Talk, Dark Lord Version

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tumblr post raising the question of Ginny’s sex-ed, and the proposed answer of the Diary telling her all about it. I started out with humour and parody, but somehow I think I strayed from the mood.

Sly, Fred spoons a sausage and a couple poached eggs onto a plate and slides it to Ginny’s seat. The meat and eggs are artfully arranged, with some cheese sauce in strategic places. George gives him a Look, and then snickers into his porridge.

‘’A galleon says she shan’t figure it out,’’ he challenges.

Fred shakes his hand under the table. ‘’Deal.’’

It’s mostly just a game to them, because what’s George’s is Fred’s and the other way around too, but they have to get their kicks somewhere. The stake is less money and more bragging rights. They just have to keep it on the down low from their mum, because she’d tan their hides if she knew they were betting.

Percy, the next one to come down for breakfast, eyes them suspiciously, but doesn’t otherwise meddle. He knows it’s best to wait them out and then pretend their antics never happened. Instead, he checks his place over for pranks and upon finding nothing he proceeds to pour himself enough black tea to drown a baby. He has a special teacup with his name on it for that purpose alone.

When Ginny comes down, there’s a deer in the headlights look on her face, but she can’t find anything amiss with the table or her chair no matter how hard she looks. Sitting down, she stares at her plate, filled with her favourite breakfast foods.

‘’That was awfully nice of you,’’ she says. ‘’What’d you put in it?’’

Fred’s grin is wide enough to border on manic. ‘’Nothing, sweet sister. We’d never.’’

‘’You break our hearts with your doubt and your shrewdness, Ginny-dear,’’ George joined in, pointing his fork at her. ‘’Why, when you were a wee little thing, we were the ones who fed you.’’

‘’Peas and carrots—‘’

‘’—and radishes too—‘’

‘’—as well as cherries and apples and pears!’’

George pauses for a second. ‘’Well, those, but only if there weren’t no maggots. You hated those, if I do recall correctly. Which I do.’’

Percy clears his throat out. ‘’I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk about maggots over breakfast,’’ he says mildly. ‘’There’s food on the table.’’

‘’Oh, Percy! We apologise, from the deepest pits of our hearts!’’

A wooden spoon resting by the stove lifts into the air and floats to where the twins are sitting. Though they know what’s coming (‘’Ouch,’’ pouts Fred. ‘’That hurt.’’) they don’t move out of the way and receive the smack with dignity.

‘’Pipe down!’’ from the garden comes their mum’s voice, and everybody hastens to obey.

Reassured now by her mother’s show of force, Ginny settles into her seat and reaches for the utensils, giving her food a look-over. One sausage, two eggs, a bit of sauce. Everything seems to be in order.

‘’Good,’’ she mumbles. ‘’I hate maggots. … No peas today?’’

Percy stretches one arm up and to the side, and once it pops in a succession of very satisfying cracks, he pats her on the head. ‘’Mum didn’t get around to picking them yet. There’ll be some tomorrow, don’t worry.’’

Ginny sighs, stuffing a bit of sausage in her mouth. ‘’That’s good, then.’’

The sound George makes is somewhere between a squeal and a squeak, and Fred pinches him in a silent reminder to shut his big mouth. Slowly, realisation is dawning on Percy, and the look he gives to Ginny’s plate is absolutely priceless.

With a resigned grumble, Percy downs his tea and stands up. Before he leaves the kitchen, he lingers in the doorway and pins Fred and George in place with a narrow-eyed glare of utter disgust for their immaturity. ‘’I’m telling Bill when he comes home,’’ are his parting words.

He’s learnt over the years that Bill’s the best option to threaten the twins with. On one hand, he won’t he as hard on them as mum would, and on the other, he’d make sure they know better next time.

Ginny looks between the door and her brothers. ‘’Huh? What’d you do?’’

 

#

 

Tom Riddle is bored.

Bored with a capital B. Bored like a boar. Bored enough that he’s making puns so stupid that if someone had told them in his presence, he’d Crucio the poor bastard on principle. Shock therapy has a hundred percent success rate in teaching people not to make stupid puns.

…

Bored, bored, bored.

So bored.

 

_Dear Tom, today my twin brothers acted really odd. They kept staring at me while I was eating, and when Percy was leaving he said he’d tattle on them to Bill. I’m not sure why, ‘cause they didn’t do anything **really** weird or anything, so I’m a tad confused now. _

 

Ah yes. His current distraction.

There’s nothing quite so fulfilling as the prepubescent melodrama unfurling around an insipid eleven-year-old twit. It just makes his heart skip a beat.

But still. He’d a Dark Lord trapped in a diary, and needs must.

(When next he meets his corporeal self, the man is in for a tongue-lashing. Trapping a bit of one’s soul in a notebook is one thing; _not writing_ in said notebook _for fifty years_ to keep your soul shard from attempting ritual suicide is quite another.)

 

_Dear Ginny, perhaps they did something while you weren’t looking, and Percy caught them red-handed. Don’t think too much about it, I’m sure it nothing to worry about._

 

In the time between his message and her reply, Tom wonders idly about his other self. The self-important prick had not only ignored him for the better part of half a century, but had the gall to hand him off to Abraxas’ son.

The same Abraxas who had to check his hairstyle at least every five hours or risked having a mild anxiety attack. The same Abraxas who never carried around a mirror, oh no, but instead used passing windows, the backs of spoons, and—Tom’s personal favourite— _other people’s eyeglasses_.

Tom shudders to think what the son is like.

… Hmm. Who’s the worse option? Abraxas’ offspring, or Ginny Weasley?

 

_Tom, I think they might’ve put something in my food._

 

Well Tom’s tempted to put something in her food too. It might not be as innocent as whatever it was that her brothers put, though.

_What makes you say so, Ginny?_

 

_Well, they kept **looking** at it. At first I thought they were looking at **me** , but now I don’t think so. And, I mean, I don’t really remember them ever actually looking at **me** for no reason. But somehow I doubt they decided to take notice of me today all out of the blue. _

 

_Perhaps they were feeling kind today. You shouldn’t judge them so harshly._

Ooh, and next, he’ll tell her that her brothers are farting rainbows that smell like Amortentia. She’d probably lap it all up, the little idiot.

Tom laments these new times. Modernity! Who needs it? Back in his day, girls were worrying about fashion and getting married and not about whether their brothers were trying to poison them. He really misses those days: he had the ability to stretch his legs. Ah, a walk through the Forbidden Forest would do him wonders now. He hasn’t seen a tree for so long.

It’s strange, the things you miss when you’re locked inside an empty book.

 

_But Tom! What if they **did**? _

 

Well. He might as well, mightn’t he?

 

_Describe to me what the scene looked like; I shall try to see it from their point of view._

 

He should not be doing this. This is cheating. But he hasn’t seen the real world for so long, and though he wants to kick himself for the fact that he’s the Dark Lord and his best chance of having a topic to distract from the sheer boredom are the day-to-day occurrences of a blood-traitor child, he’s desperate.

But if he could see the Outside, even second-hand, even if it was told through the voice of Ginny Weasley, it would be—

Damn his other self.

 

_Oh, Tom, thank you, thank you, thank you!_

_We were sitting at the table, and the twins were opposite of me and Percy. Percy sat at my right. Fred was eating eggs and sausages, like me, and Fred was having porridge with some honey mixed in. Percy was drinking tea. And then I started to eat and the twins started laughing. They tried to make it seem like they weren’t, but I could **see** them. _

_I’m not crazy, Tom, **right**? _

 

The moment you had to ask a Dark Lord for a confirmation of your sanity, you got your answer, he thinks dryly. But sweet baby Ginny doesn’t know anything about her saviour, so maybe not answer enough.

Tom scratches his chin.

(He actually doesn’t because he has no body, but the thought is there and that’s all that counts. Hopefully.)

Let’s see. What is clever, but not really? What is mature enough that Ginny Weasley wouldn’t see it, but immature enough that a pair of teenage boys around Tom’s age would find it amusing? … Hmm—oh.

 _Oh_.

Well, when you think about it like that, it _is_ kind of funny. Though Tom was always more of a porridge person himself and what kind of honey did the boy put in because not all kinds taste the same and porridge goes best with orange honey and if it Tom was there he’d be more concerned with the food than with a stupid girl eating sausage even though her ignorance is rather amusing—

Wait, no. Get yourself together, Tom. You’re a Dark Lord. You are mature, sensible, sophisticated. You do not find _dick jokes_ entertaining.

Although there was that one time with LeStrange and his fiancée… _No_. Bad Tom.

Now, to decide what to do with this revelation.

 

_Tom? Are you still there?_

 

No, Tom disappeared approximately two seconds ago and is now having a cuppa with that addled old goat Dumbledore in front of his granite Dark Lord throne. My name is actually John and I got here by mistake. Where do you think I am?

 

_I’m still here, Ginny, don’t fret. I was just thinking._

 

_Oh. ~~I thought you might’ve~~ Well did you figure it out? _

 

_I think I have, yes. But it’s not very appropriate for you to hear._

 

Right, and don’t you forget about it. The last thing on Tom’s to-do list is to explain sexual innuendo to a pre-Hogwarts-aged child.

 

_Oh please, Tom! Please tell me. It can’t be that bad._

 

_No, Ginny, I’m sorry. But I truly don’t think it’s something you should be subjected to hearing._

 

**_I HATE YOU! You’re just like the rest of them! Keeping secrets from_ **

 

Oops. That escalated quickly.

Well he can’t have his ticket to freedom throwing him away, now can he? Now, to fix this without resorting to something drastic, like actually giving her what she wants. Hey, he could distract her, show her some memories or something. Maybe the memory of that theatre performance he saw when he was fourteen. Girls like sappy romance, right?

Rosie Paddock certainly did; though she spent the whole time sighing in Tom’s direction and giving him the goo-goo eyes, which was really creepy because she was like four years older than him and engaged to the butcher from across the street.

But then again, Rosie Paddock recreationally snorted drugs whenever she could scrounge up a couple quid for it, so her odd behaviour isn’t so surprising.

 

_Ginny, please don’t be mad at me, I was just trying to help you! But what your brothers did was so very rude, and I just wanted to spare you the embarrassment._

 

_~~But Tom~~ _

_~~You can’t~~ _

_You’re **my** friend, Tom, you have to tell me the truth no matter what. _

 

Does it say something about him that he’s starting to find her psychoses adorable? Like, he’s beginning to feel proud of her for articulating her thoughts and subtly implying threats instead of just breaking things. That one time when she threatened to burn him if he talked to anybody else or gave her secrets away made him feel a bit like he was seeing his firstborn take their first step.

Too bad he’ll kill her the first chance he gets.

… Well, if anything, this will be funny.

 

_If you’re sure, Ginny…_

 

_I’m sure, Tom. Just tell me already._

 

_Your brothers were making a bad joke. When you were eating your … **sausage** , they took it as a representation of a certain sexual act. _

 

Though why anyone would want to see Ginny Weasley suck a sausage is beyond him. Especially if it’s her own brothers. But then again, Tom learnt long ago that purebloods are weird and that it’s best not to question them.

 

_What sexual act?_

 

You must be joking.

Tom, very carefully, stills himself, and then considers all possible answers to that question. His first thought is to pretend she’s playing a trick on him. But then he remembers, Ginny Weasley is eleven. She hasn’t experienced puberty yet. She has no way of knowing this, considering the sheltered life she’s lived so far.

Oh damn it all.

… He’ll kill her soon. She has no need of this information.

But he needs her trust.

Tom has a duty to this girl, doesn’t he?

 

_Ginny?_

 

_Yes, Tom?_

 

_Do you know what sex is?_

 

_… Mum said only adults get to do that._

 

Heaven help him.

 

_But do you know what it is?_

 

**_No._ ** _Why are you asking me this, Tom?_

 

I am a Dark Lord. Though it feels like it, explaining sexual intercourse to a young girl will not make me spontaneously implode from embarrassment. I am a Dark Lord. Though it feels like it, explaining human procreation to a young girl will not make me spontaneously implode from embarrassment.

 

_Sex is the way for humans to have children. It happens between a man and a woman who are married and have need for an heir._

 

_How does it happen? And what does it have to do with me eating breakfast?_

 

_In many ways. The most common way is penetrative sex, in which a man inserts his penis in the woman’s vagina and ejaculates. If the circumstances are favourable, this leads to insemination and pregnancy._

 

The words ‘penis’ and ‘vagina’ leave him feeling slightly grossed out. It’s not the organs themselves, for Tom has no issue with human genitals whatsoever, but that he should say them aloud, for someone to hear loud and clear… It feels rude and shameful.

Tom remembers his first time in bed with a woman. He doesn’t remember her name or what she looked like. She’s probably long dead by now, but he vaguely recalls flashes of dark hair and slender legs shaved smooth, and the colour of the moonlight falling on the soles of her feet as he left her bed and her life. The diary devoured everything else.

He’d taken care not to leave any traces of himself for her to find in the morning, and he’d made sure there would be no unpleasant surprises. Magic, he thinks, is such a lovely tool.

 

_What does ejaculate mean?_

 

It would probably be for the best to just give her the scientific elucidation and then answer any questions she has. The least embarrassing option, too. But it will have to be simplified, of course. No need to dig himself a deeper grave by going in with all the finicky details. With that in mind…

 

_A man and a woman each have half a puzzle, so to speak. To create a child, both pieces are needed. Because the woman’s half is within her in the form of a tiny egg, the man releases his puzzle piece by ejaculating sperm, which fertilises the egg._

 

_Oh._

_But what does that have to do with what F and G were laughing about?_

 

Here goes the worst part.

 

_Sex isn’t just for the purpose of procreating. Because it is very pleasurable, and because humans don’t always want children, other ways of having intercourse have been thought up. What your brothers found amusing was the thought of oral sex, in which instead of penetrating the vagina, one uses one’s mouth to pleasure their partner._

 

Ginny’s response isn’t quick to come. Tom supposes that’s alright; she’s very young, and needs time to come to terms with certain aspects of adult life.

… He should educate her some more. Who knows what she’ll think up to fit his explication in with her worldviews. He can’t have the poor child going around and having heaven knows what kind of ideas. Tom must do right by her before he drains her dry of her life force.

 

_But, Tom, when two people are in love, children are a blessing. Why wouldn’t they want kids?_

 

Tom’s brain stutters to a halt. And then he starts laughing. Of all the things she could0ve thought of!

For a very long moment, he giggles. Snorts. Cackles.

And then he calms down.

 

_Sex is a power play. It’s a way to blackmail others. To persuade them and get them to follow you. It’s a game where one’s body is just another card to play, and it’s a game that always attracts even the most coldblooded of gamblers._

 

Tom remembers the game well. Abraxas, for example, despite the fluff in his skull, was particularly good at it. He used to be Tom’s best spy, just because he could get any girl to talk to him, regardless of her House. If Abraxas couldn’t do it the old-fashioned way because the target wasn’t that willing, then the blond would simply dosed his unfortunate victim with a few drops of this or that potion.

And Tom played the game himself when it came to the delicate, risky ploys he couldn’t trust his subordinates with. Played it, and won it.

 

_Sex is not an act of love, as many would claim. It’s simply a way to assert one’s ownership of another, to make them see how much you own them. And to show them the prize they could have if they do as you command._

 

Of course, that doesn’t mean there were no … incidents. One particular incident stands out: when Tom first set out to seduce a boy.

Boys are both harder and easier at the same time. Unlike girls, they won’t fall for empty words or hollow promises. They won’t just forget the infraction if you cast them aside. But once you’ve got them, you have them for good. They may stray and wander off the path you’ve beaten for them, but they’ll always come back to you.

Boys are a hit and miss. More of a miss, really.

The Attempted Seduction of Charlus Potter deserves all the capital letters it’s got.

 

_A power play?_

 

_Yes._

 

_~~I don’t like~~ _

_I’m going to sleep, Tom._

 

_Goodnight Ginny._

 

_But tomorrow you’ll tell me more about this._

 

At least he has something to look forward to.

Explaining sex to an eleven-year-old. Tom had never even thought he’d talk to children about sex, let alone illuminate them upon the topic.

…

Tom’s bored again.

 


End file.
